Wicked and Wonderful (27 page)

“That is much better,” she said, smiling once more. “But you are forgiven, you know. For had you offered for me at the outset, I should have accepted you. And had I done so, I should have doomed myself to the greatest unhappiness imaginable.”

He leaned forward protesting. “I would have tended to your happiness. I can promise you that. I would not have done you injury. I beg you will believe me.”

“I do, but do you not see how very sad that would have been for both of us, that you would have
dutifully
striven to make me happy? But you must understand, my lord, that is not to what I am referring at present.” She released Laurence’s hand and slipped her arm about his very tightly, drawing close to him. “Had I accepted of your offer”—here she turned to look at Laurence—”I should never have discovered until too late that a better man for me was right beneath my nose.”

Kelthorne glanced from one to the other and complete enlightenment dawned. “You love him and he loves you.” He jumped to his feet. “By Jove, this is the best news you could have given me. You are wealthy and now Laurence may write his poetry.”

“Precisely,” she stated.

“Nothing could make me happier.”

“Are you certain?” Laurence asked. “For I will admit to you that I made every use of the numerous opportunities you provided to win her affections.”

“Is this so?” Miss Currivard asked, obviously stunned, leaning slightly away from Laurence to see him better. She never released his arm, even for a moment.

Laurence sighed. “I suppose there is nothing for it but to confess the truth. Abigail, the moment I laid eyes on you I was lost. Even then, I might have been able to forget you save that you kept laughing at all my jokes.”

Miss Currivard smiled warmly. “You are the dearest man.”

“You loved her from the beginning, indeed?” Kelthorne queried.

“Hopelessly.” Laurence admitted.

Kelthorne shook his head. “I wish you had said something to me. I would have stepped aside, you must have known I would.”

“I was never assured of Abigail’s sentiments until now. I truly believed it possible that the pair of you might one day form an attachment.”

“What altered that opinion?”

Laurence and Miss Currivard exchanged a glance. Miss Currivard sighed and turned back to Kelthorne. “Because of the way you could not release Miss Lovington’s hand after the day of the fair. Do you remember? I realized
‘twas a hopeless case.
”

“Of course. I see now what you were about.”

“I will admit to having had a
tendre
for you but after that day, most surprisingly, I did not feel particularly sad. Only then was it borne in on me how much I had come to depend upon Laurence’s society for my contentment, very deeply so.”

“I cannot tell you how happy I am,” Kelthorne said. “This has ended just as it should have.” He laughed suddenly. “Only tell me, have you heard a little of Laurence’s poetry?”

“While you were
dallying
with Miss Lovington,” Miss Currivard did not hesitate to explain, “Laurence was reading me all of his poems.”

“All?” he inquired.

“Well, there were a few he said he felt it necessary to burn.”

“I imagine there were.”

“But we intend never to speak of his former
interests.
”

“A wise decision.” He thought for a moment then addressed Miss Currivard. “There is one thing I should like to know—if you knew that I had feelings for Miss Lovington, why were you constantly forcing us to be together—Cheddar Gorge, the soiree? I always felt you had some design in mind, but what could it possibly have been?”

She smiled. “I needed to know to a certainty precisely how you did feel about her and whether, given the opportunity, you would fall so passionately in love with her that nothing else mattered. From the first I had my suspicions and they were proved wholly true. I never meant to torment you but since I was risking my own happiness, I felt obligated to understand the truth as best I could. Do you blame me?”

He shook his head. “Again, I believe you made another wise decision.”

The next few minutes were spent congratulating Laurence and wishing them both every happiness. As for his own situation, he intended to let the issue of marriage rest for awhile.

After Laurence gave him a few subtle hints by lifting his brows up and down a dozen times and shifting his eyes toward the door, Kelthorne finally bid them goodnight. He left the conservatory and headed for bed. Trudged, more like. He was happy for Laurence, but the fact that Miss Currivard was no longer available, brought Judith to the fore of his mind more sharply than ever.

What was he supposed to do now?

On the following morning, however, he discovered that his sister had a plan of her own. He stared at her shaking his head. “What do you mean you intend to introduce me to Bath society?”

“I believe I have spoken plainly enough only perhaps you wish to understand my motives better. I am sorry for you, for this tragedy that has occurred during these weeks here in Somerset. I thought Bath might provide a helpful diversion. There are always people to be met in the Pump Room and parties at least once a week. You will not be dull and I did have several young ladies who I wished to make known to you quite apart from Miss Currivard, each of whom would be quite acceptable to the
beau monde
in general.”

“I, too, think you will be content in Bath,” Amy said, reaching a hand across the breakfast table to give his arm a gentle squeeze. “At least I would wish it so for I vow, Aubrey, neither of us have seen you so blue-deviled.”

He rose abruptly but spoke in a softened voice to his sisters. “I know you mean only kindness, but you have to understand that I have given up my soul in relinquishing Judith and I do not believe I shall recover it in Bath. I mean to go to London.”

“No.”Amy rose to her feet and that so suddenly her chair almost fell backwards. “Aubrey, you cannot. You have been doing so well in Portislow.”

“Pray, Aubrey,” Mary said, her eyes filling with tears. “Do not do this, I beg of you.”

“I wish I could feel remorse for what I mean to do, but I cannot.” With that, he quit the breakfast room.

He returned to his bedchamber and gave orders to his valet to back his bags, and to return to the London townhouse. He then dressed in riding gear and would follow on horseback. A hard push to London was what was needed and he would do so at once. He could not bear remaining behind knowing that Judith would very soon leave Somerset. Besides, the tenderness he witnessed constantly between Miss Currivard—now a very dear Abigail—and Laurence, served painfully to remind him of what he had lost.

No, he must leave Portislow and soothe his unhappiness in the varied, if debauched, delights of London.

Chapter Thirteen

“Then we are not leaving today?” Judith asked. She had been washing dishes and now stood wiping her hands. She was relieved by the interruption since the water was far too hot.

“John says we must wait,” Margaret said. “Charles must see a doctor.”

“But does anyone know what is the matter with him? Even the smallest guess?” She felt uneasy. Charles was never sick.

“Nay. Even Mrs. Marnhull has seen ought like it. He thrashes about, complains of a pain in his stomach and will let no one touch him.”

“Has he a fever?”

“Nay.” She paused and frowned.

“What is it, Margaret? What are you not telling me?”

“He says he were poisoned at the castle when he returned the bread baskets this morning. Cook gave him a sweetmeat but why would anyone want to hurt him, that’s what I’d like to know. Sounds havey-cavey to me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I am inclined to believe he is play-acting.”

“But to what purpose? Of everyone present, he has been the most anxious to leave.”

“Aye,” she agreed, but she frowned anew. “La, but there is Shelly teasing poor Horace.” She hurried away calling her daughter’s name.

Judith was left to plunge her hands once more into the scalding water and continued washing the dishes. She tried to feel even a small portion of compassion toward Charles but found she could not. He was little better than a weasel and even then, she thought the epithet unkind to the countryside creature.

She spent her day, therefore, relaxing in her tent or taking walks about the countryside. At two o’clock the doctor arrived and pronounced that Charles was suffering from an unknown ailment and gave him a dose of laudanum that should keep him quiet and restful through the afternoon and into the evening. The doctor would call on his patient in the morning and only then would John determine if the troupe was to finally leave Portislow.

Judith was grateful for the delay if for no other reason than that during her walks, she chose to memorize the entire vicinity, especially the areas around the castle and the orchard, which held such dear memories for her. If a constant and quite painful longing traipsed behind her, she took great care to remind herself of the various truths that had already served to separate her forever from Kelthorne. She knew only too well just how even proper gentlemen treated ladies of the stage. There would be no end to the innuendos and gossip were she to step from her present world and enter Kelthorne’s. Had she been risking only her own peace of mind, she rather believed she might have agreed to wed him but as soon as there were children, she understood just how cruel their playmates could be.

There was another question, however, that needed to be answered. Should she leave the troupe? Now that Stolford knew of her whereabouts and that she no longer feared him, she did not need to stay hidden any longer. She was free to leave if she wished to do so. Yet, where would she go? How would she live? These were the more difficult questions to answer. She even thought of seeking out her uncle in Kent, but would he even acknowledge her once he learned what she had been doing for eight years?

The thought so saddened her that she decided she would not try to make any such determination, at least not yet, at least not until the troupe had left Somerset and she could become more accustomed to her life without Kelthorne. Time enough to make changes. For the present, she had an obligation to the troupe to continue performing.

As the night drew close around the camp and fatigue settled into every tent, she prepared for bed. At least one issue had been resolved since Charles had declared himself sufficiently recovered to allow the troupe to leave for Devonshire in the morning.

She sighed. There was nothing more to be done, except to leave.

She brushed out her hair and had just begun to set a braid, when she heard a faint scuffling a little beyond her tent. The hour was past eleven so she was a little concerned that someone would be abroad, particularly before a day of travel. She rose and would have investigated further, but silence returned and she resumed her seat and continued plaiting her hair.

Once her hair was in a neat braid, she rose to her feet and was about to lift the skirt of her nightdress in order to untie the sheath holding her dagger to her leg, when another scuffle alerted her. By that time, however, it was too late. She turned and saw a large, masked man holding a club. His eyes were as dark as night. The club rushed toward her. She was falling before she could comprehend what was happening.

*** *** ***

Kelthorne had been sitting for a very long time, several hours in fact, in a parlor on the first floor of an inn just on the border between Somerset and Wiltshire. He had arrived there earlier in the day on horseback and had meant to change horses again and push on to the metropolis. But he could not seem to depart his home county for one simple reason—the very thought of leaving Judith behind had become so severe an ache in his heart that he had been unable to move since half past three.

The hour was now much advanced though not yet midnight. He was finishing his third brandy when he suddenly spoke aloud in the empty parlor, “The devil take it. I will marry the chit no matter what anyone says.”

He rose hastily and called for the landlord who came to him sleepy-eyed. “There’s a good fellow,” he said, “and I do beg your pardon, but I believe I must pay the shot and take my leave. I will pay for the room of course, with a little extra.”

At these words, the landlord nodded quite agreeably. “Wery good, me lord. Wery good.” A clattering in the cobbled yard drew him to the window. “Wat’s this now? A coach so late? Does anyone know there be murderers and thieves abroad at night and good men need their rest?”

Kelthorne moved to the window as well and was properly shocked to find his sisters descending Mary’s traveling coach. He went to them at once. “What is amiss?” he asked, drawing them into the taproom. “Has something happened?”

The ladies regarded one another. “Not precisely.” Mary said. “That is, we left everyone at Portislow in good health. But we have learned something of import that has led us to believe we have made a very great mistake.”

“I hope you have not come to tell me you have just learned there is another heiress of trade in Bath.”

“No, no,” Amy said hurriedly. “We have no intention of preventing you from staying on your course to London, if that is what you truly wish. But we had to tell you.”

He saw their sincerity and gestured to the stairs. “I have a parlor on the first floor.” Searching in his pocket he tossed a sovereign to the landlord. “Much more will follow if you will be so good as to tend the horses, feed the coachman and send tea up for the ladies.”

He bowed happily more than once, thumbing the fine coin in his hand. “Yes, me lord. With pleasure.” He adjusted his nightcap and headed out to awaken the hostler.

Kelthorne followed quickly in his sisters’ wake. They looked fatigued, which they should since they had been traveling no doubt most of the evening. “Will you not sit down?”

“Yes, of course,” Mary said.

Once they had arranged their skirts and exchanged a troubled glance, he broke their silence. “What the deuce is going forward? Mary, for God’s sake, what is wrong?”

“It is concerning Miss Lovington,” she said. “No, no, she is perfectly well. As it happens, Stolford came to call on us earlier this afternoon and when he left on foot, I had decided myself to walk into town for there was a particular bonnet in one of the shop windows I had admired and which I thought I might purchase. But as I descended the hill, I heard voices and recognized Stolford’s laugh. I would have made my presence known but I heard him speak Miss Lovington’s name and I simply had to know what he would say of her.